


Second Home

by XxOngakuxX



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Parentlock, Post S4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 15:52:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14084337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxOngakuxX/pseuds/XxOngakuxX
Summary: Every Watson is welcome to a home in Baker Street. Even the small ones that have yet to walk.





	Second Home

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the fabulous 88thParallel for beta-ing. Without her help, this would have never seen the light of day.

Sherlock wasn’t sure how he found himself in Mothercare, staring at an overload of baby supplies, clothes, and a sea of pastels. He couldn’t blame a distracted mind simply carrying his legs here without any knowledge as he had to actively find the nearest one to him, surprisingly close to Baker Street. So much so, that he was shocked he had not realised it sooner.

Now with the flat coming to the end of construction, John was leaving Rosie with Sherlock more and more. It had started because John had an emergency come up at work, and Molly and Mrs. Hudson had both been busy that day, so Sherlock had offered to watch Rosie. Now, it seemed obvious that he would be the first person John went to. For the most part, Sherlock was free and didn’t mind having Rosie over. He took more cold cases or simple ones he could solve from the comfort of his flat, unwilling to ever put Rosie in any sort of danger. Not after what had happened to her mother. Sherlock wasn’t sure if he could live with himself if he took another person away from John. Besides, he had grown fond of the little Watson stumbling around the flat.

Now with Rosie staying over so much, it was becoming annoying to carry so much around for her. A travel cot, a nappy bag, a small travel bag for toys and clothes, and anything else she might need. It seemed a bit excessive to tote it all back and forth from John’s flat to Sherlock’s. He couldn’t count the amount of items that had been lost in transit: nappies, dummies, socks, toys, and so many other casualties left behind in the streets and in the cabs of London. It made more sense to simply stock up on the necessities at Baker Street than need to lug everything back and forth. Sherlock just wished he didn’t feel as out of his depth as he did.

“Hello! Can I help you?” asked an overly perky sales woman. A quick glance at her told Sherlock everything he needed to know. She was middle to late twenties, had some sort of reptile, was in a steady relationship, and was hoping to have kids of her own. Usually he would send an annoyed look her way or toss a scathing remark to make her leave him alone to do his own shopping, but he felt too far in over his head.

“Um,” Sherlock said, looking around. Usually he was more eloquent than this, but he did not even know where to begin. “I could use some assistance.” He turned a full circle, taking in the store and everything inside, before turning to the woman again. “Do you not have cots?” He asked. He knew the store wasn’t all that large, but surely there were cots somewhere.

“We do sell cots, but this store doesn’t carry them. You could order from our website and have it delivered to your place,” she suggested, a smile still plastering her face. It was overly polite and completely fake.

“I was unaware you had a website,” Sherlock said, pulling out his mobile and doing a quick search. It took less than a second for the page to pop up, annoying color scheme and flashy sales that Sherlock doubted would even be useful. “Thank you for your assistance,” he muttered, not once looking up from his phone as he feet carried him back home.

Two days online, various websites, and several thousand pounds later, Sherlock let out an annoyed sigh. Between the repairs to Baker Street, shopping for Rosie, and just the basic essentials of living, he was seriously running low on funds. Oh well. For a Watson, it was worth it.

By the time all the things he had ordered arrived, and he had them set up, and ready to be used, the flat was officially done and blessedly empty. When Sherlock had thought months ago that the flat had felt too lonely and quiet, he hadn’t wanted the commotion of construction crew bustling about the place and getting their grubby hands on everything. He felt like he could finally relax, everything in place and finally settled. It was just as he was sitting down in his chair, a warm cuppa in his hands when his phone alerted him to a text.

  _Hey, work just called and said they had a cancellation.One of the doctor’s caught that flu that’s been going around. Wondering if you could watch Rosie for a bit so I can pick up the shift. If not, I’ll call back and tell them I can’t make it._

 Sherlock didn’t even have to think about it. Of course he would take Rosie. He knew with only one income, a child to support, and the rent on his flat, John was struggling a bit with money. Sherlock would have offered to help, but he knew that it would only be taken as a slap to the face. Implying that John couldn’t provide for his daughter would not go over well. So, he had offered to watch her instead. 

 _Of course. Bring her over anytime. Watsons are always welcome at Baker Street._  

He sent back quickly, setting his phone aside and going to take a careful sip of the tea. He paused with his lips on the rim before reaching out to grab his phone and send another quick message.

  _Just bring Rosie. Don’t need anything else._

  _You sure? What about clothes and nappies and things? I’ll just pack a small bag._

  _No. Just Rosie._

 He looked at his phone, seeing that it was marked read with no response. He hadn’t told John about what he had done to the upstairs. It felt a little silly to bring it up and ask if it was okay. It was his flat, even though it was John’s old room. He should be allowed to do with it as he pleased. And, as it happened, he so wished to make it feel more like a second home for John’s daughter.

When John arrived, he let himself in as he usually did, and started up the steps. Sherlock had been sitting on the couch flipping through a magazine, mind wandering more than paying attention to what was on the page.

“We’re here!” John called up from the stairs, taking them quickly enough. He must have listened to Sherlock then. Usually it took him a lot more time as he had to carry both Rosie and all of her things. He stopped at the top of the steps, making a curious noise in his throat. “What’s this then?” he asked as Sherlock looked up at him standing on the opposite side of the gate he had put up.

“A baby gate, John. Honestly. It’s like you’ve never seen one before,” he said, getting up to unlock it for him, giving Rosie a smile. “Your dad’s a little slow today, isn’t he?” He asked, swinging the gate open and then locking it behind him. “Seemed the best way to keep her from the steps now that she’s starting to walk.”

Sherlock turned around to see John stood stock still in the sitting room, Rosie squirming in his arms. “Sherlock,” he said, slowly turning around and looking at the state of the flat. “What is all this?”

Sherlock came to stand by John, taking Rosie from him and setting her on the ground so she could crawl about and play as she liked. He also looked around the sitting room, wondering what John was getting at for a moment before it dawned on him. Ah, yes. The baby proofing. He had made sure to make Baker Street safe for Rosie, covering outlets, making sure there were no dangling cords or things for her to pull, placing everything out of reach of her tiny grabby hands. There was a toy box shoved against the wall just under the window near the couch which Rosie now dug through, pulling out various toys Sherlock had bought online. A highchair was squeezed into the kitchen, which was spotless of lab equipment. He had them convert 221C into a small lab for him when they were working on 221B. He had talked to Mrs. Hudson who had agreed to allow it considering the mold and that she still couldn’t seem to rent it out.

“I thought there were a few changes worth making,” Sherlock tried to say casually, not looking at John and instead focusing his attention on Rosie. “Just seemed a bit ridiculous to need to carry everything back and forth with how much I see her.”

“Right,” John said, his eyes boring into the back of Sherlock’s head for a moment. “I’ve got to go or I’ll be late. I’ll, uh, pick her up after my shift then?” He asked, giving Rosie a quick kiss on her head before starting towards the baby gate, simply staring down at it.

“See you then,” Sherlock said, turning just in time to catch John’s eye. He gave him a small smile and John tried to return it before heading back down the steps, stopping after a few to go back up and lock the gate again.

When John returned back to Baker Street it was well past dark. Sherlock had given Rosie a bath, having played in the puddles and mud the rain showers had brought earlier in the day. He always like taking her to the park when he could, watching her run, giggle, and splash until she was covered head to toe in filth. It was hard to be upset about his ruined clothes, needing to carry her home, when her smile was so large and her laughs covered the sound of the cars passing them by.

John remembered the gate when he went up the next time. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, perhaps Rosie on the floor as she usually was or inside a Pack-and-Play Sherlock had bought along with the gates, but she was nowhere in sight.

“She in your room?” John asked, catching sight of Sherlock at the desk on his laptop.

“Hm? Oh, no. She’s upstairs in her room,” Sherlock said, flapping his hand towards the stairs that lead up to John’s old room.

 _“Her_ room?” John asked, turning to look at the stairs leading up to his old room. There was a gate on those steps as well. “What do you mean _her_ room?”  
Sherlock looked up from his laptop. He had just been reading a scientific journal article on up and coming methods for detecting toxins in blood, but it was more just for something quiet to do. What he’d really like would be to pick up his violin and play a bit, but he didn’t want to risk waking Rosie. He knew even a nice melody, if loud enough, could wake a toddler.

Instead of answering, Sherlock stood up and gestured towards the stairs. John watched him for a moment before turning and heading up the steps. After two more baby gates, one at the bottom of the staircase and one at the top, John eased the door open. When he stepped inside he could only stand in the doorway, mouth open in surprise.

The room — which had once only housed a bed, nightstand, and dresser — was now completely transformed. The walls, which had been covered in a dreadfully boring wallpaper with a light blue floral print, were now pink with various animals and wall stickers decorating it tastefully. There was a circular rug in the middle of the room, covering most of the floor in all the vibrant colors of the rainbow . Nestled in the corner was a cot where Rosie was sleeping peacefully. A small night light lit the room softly, giving it a gentle glow and chasing out the darkness that had once made the room erie on too dark nights. There was a changing table, a dresser, and several toys and animals scattered about. It was the perfect bedroom for Rosie. Everything she could possibly need carefully gathered and placed in the room that John had once called home.

“Sherlock,” John breathed out, both keeping his voice quiet both for Rosie’s sake and because he was almost afraid that the sound would turn the illusion in front of him back to reality. “What have you done?” It wasn’t an accusation. His voice carried with it wonder and awe, unable to believe what he was really seeing.

“Well,” Sherlock said, having followed John up the steps. He stood behind him, looking into the room that had John stumped. “She’s a Watson and Watsons deserve only the best.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his feet, nervous and unsure what John’s reaction meant.

“You . . .  you built her a room.” His voice was so filled with wonder it felt, for a moment, that they were back to the beginning. Back when John had called him brilliant and amazing. Back when things made sense.

“Of course I did, John. How could I not? She deserves a proper place to sleep if I’m going to continue to watch her.”

John turned around to stare at him, blue eyes locking with Sherlock’s. For the first time in a very long time, Sherlock felt like he was being looked at —  like John was actually _seeing_ _him_ and not the Sherlock he _wanted_ to see. Sherlock wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, the tension thick and his heart pounding in his ears. He didn’t dare look away.

“You,” John started, blinking and looking Sherlock up and down. “You’re . . . something else.” It felt like the air was sucked out of the room at John’s words. He barely had time to process the words before he felt a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down so their lips could slot together.

It wasn’t the blindingly brilliant kiss Sherlock had dreamed of when he allowed his mind to wonder. It wasn’t even a _good_ kiss. Too rough. Too sudden. Both too much space between them and not enough.

But it was the single greatest thing to have ever happened to him in his entire life. For the first time since before Sherlock left, Baker Street was finally starting to feel like home.


End file.
